BYT, BUCHANAN  READ. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


CHRISTINE. 

Supposed  to  "be  related  by  a  young  sculptor  on  the 
hill-side  between.  Florence  and  Fiesole', 


CHRISTINE. 


BY 

T.    BUCHANAN    READ, 


ILLUSTRATED 

FROM    DESIGNS  BY   FREDERICK  DIELMAN. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J     B.    LIPPINCOTT   &    CO. 

LONDON:    16    SOUTHAMPTON    ST.,    STRAND. 
1883. 


COPYRIGHT, 

1882, 
BY  J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT  &  Co. 


LIPPI  NCOTT'S 
PR  us  s. 


OME,   my   friend, 
I  and  in  the  silence 
and    the   shadow  wrapt  apart, 
I   will    loose   the   golden 
claspings  of  this  sacred 

r ! 

tomb — the   heart. 


901533 


By    the    bole   of    yonder    cedar,    under    branches 

spread  like   eaves, 
We    will    sit    where    wavering    sunshine    weaves 

romance   among  the   leaves. 

There  by  gentle   airs   of  story  shall   our  dreamy 

minds  be   swayed, 
And  our  spirits  hang  vibrating  like  the  sunshine 

with   the   shade. 

Thou  shalt  sit,  and  leaning  o'er  me,  calmly  look 

into   my   heart, 
Look  as  Fiesole  above  us  looketh  on  Val  d'Arno's 

mart : — 


Shalt  behold   how 

Love's   fair   river 

down  the  golden  city  goes,  f^p 
As  the  silent  stream  of  Arno  through  the  streets 

of  Florence   flows. 


I   was    standing   o'er   the   marble,  in    the   twilight 

falling  gray, 
All    my   hopes   and  all  my   courage   waning   from 

me   like   the   day: 

There   I  leaned   across   the   statue,  heaving   many 

a   sigh   and   groan, 
For    I    deemed    the    world    as    heartless,   aye,   as 

heartless   as   the   stone ! 

Nay,  I  wellnigh  thought  the  marble  was  a  portion 

of  my   pain, 
For  it   seemed  a  frozen   sorrow  just  without  my 

burning:  brain. 


Then   a   cold    and    deathlike    stupor    slowly    crept 

along   my   frame, 
While    my   life    seemed    passing    outward,   like   a 

pale    reluctant   flame. 

And  my  weary  soul  went  from  me,  and  it  walked 
the  world  alone, 

O'er  a  wide  and  brazen 
desert,  in  a  hot  and 
brazen  zone ; 


There    it  walked    and    trailed    its    pinions,   slowly 

trailed   them   in   the   sands, 
With    its    hopeless    eyes    fixed    blindly,    with    its 

hopeless   folded   hands. 

And   there   came   no  morn, — no   evening  with   its 

gentle   stars   and   moon, 
But    the    sun    amid    the    heavens    made   a   broad 

unbroken    noon. 

And  anon  far  reaching  westward,  with  its  weight 

of  burning   air, 
Lay  an  old  and  desolate   ocean  with  a  dead  and 

glassy   stare. 


There    my    spirit   wandered    gazing,  for    the    goal 

no   time   might   reach, 
"With  its  weary  feet  unsandalled  on  the  hard  and 

heated  beach. 

This    it    is    to    feel    uncared    for,   like    a    useless 

wayside   stone, 
This  it  is  to  walk  in  spirit   through  the  desolate 

world   alone  ! 


Still  I  leaned  across  the  marble,  and  a  hand  was 

on   my   arm, 
And    my    soul    came    back    unto    me    as    'twere 

summoned   by   a   charm : 

While   a   voice   in   gentlest   whisper,  breathed   my 

name   into   my   ear, 
"  Ah,  Andrea,  why  this  silence,  why  this  shadow 

and   this  tear?:' 

Then   I   felt   that  I  had  wronged    her,  though    I 

knew   it  not   before; 
I   had  feared   that  she  would  scorn    me  if  I  told 

the  love   I  bore. 


I    had    seen    her,   spoken    to    her,   only    twice    or 

thrice   perchance ; 
And  her  mien  was  fine  and  stately,  and  all  heaven 


was   in   her  glance. 


She  had  praised  my  humble  labors,  the  conception 

and   the   art, — 
She   had   said   a   thing  of  beauty  nestled   ever   to 

her   heart. 

And   I  thought   one   pleasant   morning  when    our 

eyes   together   met, 
That    her    orbs    in   dewy   splendor    dropt    beneath 

their   fringe    of  jet. 


Though    her   form   and 
air  were  noble,  yet  a 

simple  dress  she  wore, 
Like   yon    maiden    by   thef 
I    cypress,  which  the  vines 
weeping   o'er. 


came 

unattended, — 

ler   protection 
^ 

in    her  mien 

'rW! 
/.., 

And  with  somewhat 
reluctance  bade    m 

call  her  name  Christine. 

i  -  .Ml  \.f -"t-^KTV 


Then  that  name  became  a  music,  and  my  dreams 

went   to   the   time, 
And    my    brain    all    day    made    verses,    and    her 

beauty   tilled   the   rhyme. 

Never   dreamed    I   that   she   loved   me,  but   I   felt 

it   now   the   more ; 
For   her   hand   was   laid   upon    me,  and    her   eyes 

were   brimming   o'er. 

Oh,  she  looked   into   my  spirit,  as  the  stars   look 

in    the   stream, 
Or   as   azure    eyes  of  angels   calm   the   trouble  of 

a    dream. 


Then    I    told    my   love    unto    her,   and    her    sighs 

came   deep   and   long — 
So    yon     peasant    plays    the    measure,    while    the 

other   leads   the   song. 

Then  with  tender  words  we  parted,  only  as  true 

lovers   can ; 
I   for   that  deep  love  she  bore  me  was  a  braver, 

better   man. 

I    had    lived    unloved    of   any,   only    loving    Art 

before ; 
Now   I  thought   all    things   did    love    me,   and    I 

loved   all   things   the    more. 


I   had  lived  accursed  of  Fortune,  lived  in  penury 

worse   than   pain  ; 
But,  when    all   the   heaven   was   blackest,  down  it 

showered   in    golden    rain. 

1  was   summoned   to   the   palace,  to   the   presence 

of  the   Duke, 
Feeling  hopes  arise  within    me   that  no  grandeur 

could   rebuke. 

Down  he  kindly  came  to  meet  me,  but  I  thought 

the   golden    throne 
Upon    which    my   love    had    raised    me,  was    not 

lower  than    his   own. 


Then    he    grasped    my   hand   with    fervor,   and   I 

gave   as   warm    return, 
For    I    felt  a   noble    nature    in    my   very   fingers 

burn. 

And    I    would    not    bow   below   him,  if    I   could 

not   rise   above, 
For   I   felt   within   my   bosom   all   the   majesty  of 

Love. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  your  fame  has  reached  me,  and 
I  fain  would  test  your  skill- - 

Carve  me  something,  Signior ;  follow  the  free 
fancy  of  your  will. 


Carve   me   something — 
an   Apollo,  or   a   Dian 

with    her  hounds : 
• 
Or    Adonis,  dying. 

watching   the   young 
lite   flow   from 
his  wounds;  — 


Or  a   dreamy-lidded   Psyche,   with    her   Cupid   on 

her   knee ; 
Or  a  flying   fretted  Daphne,  taking  refuge  in  the 

tree. 

But  I  will   not  dictate,  Signior;   I  can  trust  your 

taste   and    skill — 
In  the  ancient   armored    chamber  you   may  carve 

me   what   you    will." 

Then  I  thanked  him  as  he  left  me — and  I  walked 

the   armored    hall — 
Even    I,   so    late     neglected,   walked     within    the 

palace    wall. 


There    were    many    suits    of    armor,    some    with 

battered    breasts   and    casques ; 
And    I    thought    the    ancestral    phantoms    smiled 

upon   me   from   their   masks. 

And    my   footsteps    were    elastic    with    an    energy 

divine — 
Never   in   those   breasts   of   iron    beat   a   heart   as 

proud   as    mine  ! 

There    for    days    I    walked    the    chamber   with    a 

spirit   all    inflamed, 
And   I    thought    on    all    the    subjects   which    the 

generous   Duke   had   named — 


Thought   of  those,  and   thought  of  others,  slowly 

thought  them    o'er   and   o'er, 
Till    my  stormy   brain   went    throbbing    like    the 

surf  along  the   shore. 

\ 

In   despair   I   left  the   palace,  sought   my  humble 

room    again, 
And  my  gentle  Christine  met  me,  and  she  smiled 

away  my  pain. 

"  Courage !"     said     she,    and     my    courage     leapt 

within    me   as   she   spake, 
And  my  soul  was  sworn  to  trial  and  to  triumph 

for   her   sake. 


Who    shall    say   that    love    is    idle,    or    a   weight 

upon    the   mind  ? 
Friend!    the   soul  that   dares   to    scorn   it,  hath   in 

idle    dust   reclined. 

I  returned,  and  in  the  chamber  piled  the  shape 
less  Adam-earth ; 

Piled  it  carelessly,  not  knowing  to  what  form 
it  might  give  birth. 

There    I   leaned,    and    dreamed,    above   it,  till   the 

day  went   down   the    west, 
And   the    darkness    came    unto    me    like    an    old 

familiar  guest. 


But    I    started,    for    a    rustle    swept    athwart    the 

solemn   gloom ! 
And    with,    light,    like    morn's    horizon,    gleamed 

the   far   end  of  the    room ! 

Then    a   heavy  sea  of  curtain,  in  a  tempest  rolled 

away ! 
Blessed  Virgin !    how  I  trembled !  but  it  was  not 

with   dismay. 

And   my  eyes  grew  large  and  larger,  as  I  looked 

with   lips   apart ; 
And   my  senses    drank    in  beauty,  till  it  drowned 

my  happy  heart. 


There   it  stood,  a  living  statue !    with  its  loosened 

locks   of  brown- 
In    an    attitude    angelic,    with    the    folded    hands 

dropt   down. 

But    I  could    not   see    the    features,  for  a  veil  was 

hanging   there, 
Yet  so  thin,  that  o'er  the  forehead  I  could  trace 

the   shadowy  hair. 

Then    the   veil   hecame    a   trouble,   and    I   wished 

that   it   were   gone, 
And   I   spake,    't   was   but    a    whisper,    "  Let   thy 

features    on    me   dawn !" 


And    the    heavy   sea    of    drapery    stormed    again 

across   my  sight, 
Leaving   me    appalled    with   wonder,  breathless    in 


the   sudden    night. 


But   for    days,   where'er    T    turned    me,    still    that 

blessed   form   was   there, 
As   one   looketh   to   the   sunlight,  then    beholds  it 

everywhere. 

And    for    days    and   days    I   labored,   with    a   soul 

in   courage    mailed ; 
And   I   wrought   the    nameless   statue ;    but,   alas ! 

the   face   was   veiled. 


1    had    tried    all 
forms  of  feature — 
every  face    of 
classic  art — 
Still  the  veil  was 
there— I  felt  it — 
in  my  brain,  and 
in  my  heart ! 

<^ 
Sorrowing,  ^ 

I  left  the 

palace,  and  again  i  met  Christine, 
And    she    trembled   as   I   told   her    of    the    vision 
I   had   seen. 


And   she   sighed,  "  Ah,  dear  Andrea,"   while   she 

clung   unto   my  breast, 
"  What   if    this    should    prove   a   phantom,  some 


thing   fearful   and   unblest — 


Something   which    shall    pass    between    us  ?"   and 

she   clasped   me    with   her   arm; 
"Nay,"    I    answered,    "love,    I'll     test    it   with    a 


most   angelic   charm. 


Let  me   gaze    upon   thy   features,   love,   and   fear 

not   for    the    rest; 
They   shall    exorcise    the    spirit   if   it   be    a   thing 

unblest!" 


Then    I   hurried   to   the   statue,  where    so   often    I 

had   failed, 
And   I   made   the   face  of  Christine,  and  it  stood 


no   longer   veiled ! 


With    a    flush   upon    my   forehead,    then    I   called 

the   Duke — he    came, 
And  in  rustling  silks  beside  him  walked  his  tall 

and   stately  dame; 

And   they  looked    upon    the    statue — then    on    me 

with    stern    surprise ; 
Then  they  looked  upon  each  other  with  a  wonder 

in    their   eyes ! 


"What    is    this?"    spake    out   the    Duchess,   with 

her  gaze   fixed    on   the    Duke ; 
"What    is    this?"    and    me    he    questioned    in    a 

tone  of  sharp    rebuke. 

Like  a  miserable  echo,  I  the  question  asked 
again — 

And  he  said,  "  It  is  our  daughter !  your  presump 
tion  for  your  pain !" 

But   asudden    from    the    curtain,    in    her   jewelled 

dress   complete, 
Swept   a   maiden   in  her  beauty,  and  she  dropped 

before   his   feet — 


And   she    cried,  "  O !    father — mother,    cast    aside 

that   frowning   mien ; 
And    forgive    my  own    Andrea,  and   forgive   your 

child    Christine ! 


O !   forgive   us :   for,  believe  me,  all   the  fault  was 

mine   alone !" 
And   they  granted   her   petition,  and  they  blessed 

us   as    their   own. 


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